


Fate's Morals

by the_slightly_cannibalistic_bird



Category: Original Work
Genre: A lot - Freeform, Blood and Torture, Don't Judge Me, Gore, How Do I Tag, I think I scared my English teacher, Kidnapping, Murder, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Tags Are Hard, Violence, Written for a Class, oof looking back at this, this sucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 12:40:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16723593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_slightly_cannibalistic_bird/pseuds/the_slightly_cannibalistic_bird
Summary: Mark has a craving for violence and Don is his next fix.(idk just read the tags)





	Fate's Morals

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first time posting any of my stories, so please let me know if you see any errors!
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this!
> 
> -bird

Mark Evans sat in the drivers' side of a 2015 Chevy Impala, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, eyes shifting between houses. He had been planning this for weeks. He had every detail plan...

A door opens. Someone walks out.  
There. His next victim. Don Moore.  
Mark looks down at his soon-to-be victim’s description.

Name: Don Moore  
Age: 21  
Eye color: gray-blue  
Hair: black with light blue tips.  
Height: 5’8  
Build: lean  
Address: 236 Melrose Apartments, Claremont Drive

This was him.

Mark got out of the car and hid behind a nearby tree, a cloth clutched in his hand, and a dark smile on his lips that anyone else would have mistaken for innocent happiness. As Don passed, Mark stepped out and pulled the boy back into his hiding place, the cloth firmly covering his mouth. Soon came the struggle that Mark had expected. However, the drug-soaked cloth soon overpowered him, his head lolling to one side.  
Mark dragged the unconscious boy over to the car, tying him up, gagging him, and shoving him in, giggling all the while.

Now this was fun. Not like those little hit and runs, only satisfying him for so long. But now he has a new plaything. Hopefully, this one will last.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Six hours later, Don woke to the pounding in his head, the sharp smell he would soon find out was blood. He opened his eyes, squinting at the light, the red and gray of the room blurring into one mass. He blinked his eyes clearing, suddenly awoken by the mass amount of blood covering his surroundings. A scream tried to escape his lips, only to be muffled into a quiet grunt, by the gag in his mouth. He tried standing, finding that his gray vans were tied to the chair. He tried moving his arms, only to find them in the same predicament.

The click of a heel.  
The creak of a door.  
Don held still, his eyes darting from the just now noticed tray, full of very sharp looking objects, to the blue door, stark against the gray and red of the room.  
The door opened.  
In stepped Mark, staring at Don like a fresh piece of meat.

Don struggled against the bonds, as the mark rolled up the sleeves of his light gray button-up, and ran thin hands through his light brown hair, pulling the wavy shoulder length mass into a small ponytail.

Mark picked up a wicked looking knife, both smile and knife glinting dangerously in the dull light of the room.

Time to get to work.

**Warning! Graphic depictions of violence will occur in the following scene! It is not necessary to read this part and I do not condone any of these actions! (depictions end at the ---stay safe!)**

Mark pressed the knife to Don's face, drawing it towards him, leaving a line of crimson dripping down a once unmarred skin.  
Don let out a small muffled cry, tugging at his bonds.  
Mark took out the gag, nimble hands running along Dons jaw, licking the blood from his fingers.  
“Please, what do you want?” Don cried out, his voice dry from lack of water. “Do you want money because...”  
Mark silenced him with a slap.  
“Let's hear you scream,” Mark said, looking at Don like a dog that had not eaten in weeks.  
And scream he did.  
With every cut of flesh, every drop of blood, Mark laughed and giggled like the madman he was. He had a lust for violence and blood, never quenched for long. He enjoyed this. Ripping out Don´s fingernails, and dislocating his fingers, Mark had fun. He let his animalistic tendencies run wild. He ripped flesh and tore his skin. He broke ribs and ankles, relishing in the snap and crackle of bone.  
He smiled when Don pleaded, broken, for him to stop, to just let him go, or to just kill him already. He always made sure his victims stayed alive. Only one of his 18 total victims that he had killed in his short 24 years of life, had died accidentally. It was his first, but he had learned his lesson. Playing with the dead was no fun. They couldn't scream, or flinch, and the blood doesn't flow.  
Mark ripped out his teeth and cut out Don’s tongue. He gouged out his eyes, the plea to stop falling on deaf ears.  
And when he was almost satisfied, he cut and sliced with reckless abandon, not caring if his toy bled out.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Five days after the kidnapping of Don Moore, his body was dumped in the basement of an old abandoned house, just five miles north of his home town of Lawrence, Kansas.

Twenty-four hours later, an anonymous call was made, and the police raced to the scene.  
His body was found, a pair of black wings burned into his back.

The Angel Killer continued his killing spree, but was never found.

The End?


End file.
